


Eyes

by BitterSongofGrace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Lord Grindelwald, Dark!Harry, Jealous!Harry, M/M, Not Time Travel, Obsessive!Dumbledore, One-Sided Relationship, Teenage Tom Riddle, Violence, Yaoi, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5044489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterSongofGrace/pseuds/BitterSongofGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom would never forget those green eyes, and Harry wouldn't let him. No matter what Dumbledore offered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preventing Me

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom: Harry Potter
> 
> Pairing: Tom(Riddle)/Harry
> 
> Summary: Tom would never forget those green eyes, and Harry wouldn't let him. No matter what Dumbledore offered.
> 
> Author: BitterSongofGrace
> 
> A/N: This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but I was encouraged to make it into something more. While this chapter has been on Fanfiction.net for at least three years, I've finally found the inspiration to start it once again.
> 
> Disclaimer: Run! Run back to your rightful owners!
> 
> WARNINGS! - Wrong-doings of the Harry Potter fandom in my self-plotted story include: YAOI! (Both are dudes.) INSINUATED SEXUAL ESCAPADES! (The sex acts are implied, not graphic this time.) VIOLENCE! (It happens.) CURSE WORDS! (Come on! Everything has these now-a-days.) ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! (Almost every part..)
> 
> Enjoy..!

_**Eyes-** _

_**Preventing Me** _

 

"Oh, but Tom! Don't you love me?"

Glimmering green malice stared at him in amusement- the only thing keeping Tom from cursing the boy in front of him ( _Wasn't it always?_ ). The sixth-year Slytherin clenched his fists, reigning in his flaring anger. Thick tension shrouded the abandoned classroom, and Tom Riddle just wanted to murder something. Preferably the Ravenclaw in front of him, sitting with knees crossed and a sly grin upon his porcelain face- yet Tom knew he wouldn't. As horribly tempting the fantasy was ( _He could just feel his hands around that pretty little neck_ ), Tom Riddle just _couldn't_.

A growl escaped his throat as he stalked towards his prey. The few moments before Tom crossed the line of personal space seemed much longer than they actually were, and he hated how those emerald eyes never left his form ( _Yet he didn't want them to leave. Why didn't he want them to leave?_ ).

Strong hands grasped lithe shoulders, and two pairs of lips met - in a clash of will, in a friction of touch. Soon Harry was writhing in pleasure as his literal dreams became a reality, and he could barely comprehend the fact. It was a daze of heat and hands, and _oh so Tom_ that he could hardly breathe. Harry pushed into the embrace, trying to claim Tom as well as Tom claimed him, but the small boy was quickly pushed backwards onto the dusty desk he had been leaning against. A murmured contraceptive spell was whispered to his lips, and Harry felt glad Tom had remembered for him (although Harry had read that the Hogwart's wards automatically took care of such things somewhere). Those blue eyes he loved and adored stared straight into his heart, and that mouth seemed to heal his wounded pride each kiss at a time. So much so that as Tom removed the last of his clothing, Harry built the courage to mumble, "You aren't doing so well at proving me otherwise." Harry heard a growl, before being roughly taken.

He wouldn't complain though, wouldn't stop the older boy either. Not when it was Tom he was submissing to, not when it was Tom that used those lips and that tongue and those teeth, pulling moan after gasp from his body. Harry was enjoying himself and helping his Tom, and it didn't matter that if the person between his thighs were anyone else, he'd be horrified.

(o-o)

Tom slowly buttoned his shirt, mind still hazy, avoiding the little Ravenclaw's gaze. Running through an imaginary list, he made sure he wouldn't be leaving anything and then deciding it wouldn't matter if he did, turned quickly towards the door with every intention of walking away without a word said.

Until a hand grabbed his sleeve.

" _That_ won't be happening again."

"I know," the little Potter said. Even still, he looked through his lashes up at Tom, a pretty smirk on his bruised lips, and Tom couldn't help but let his gaze drift down to the purple bruise on that pale neck. ( _He_ _had put that there.._ )

Snatching his arm from the boy's grip, he stalked backwards, taking mild enjoyment from the resulting flinch on that pretty face. "Then stop!" Tom demanded, chest heaving and breathing harsh.

Potter's lovely face crumbled, and then quickly rebuilt itself. The Ravenclaw straightened his shoulders and stood from the desk ( _The desk where they-_ ), brushing inexistent dust from his lavender night shirt. The change in his being was fast; the sudden hurt, surprise, fear from that instant before hardened into a coldness within those damned ( _enchanting_ ) eyes that startled him.

The boy pouted. "Stop what? I'm sorry if I did something!"

'Stop making me want you!'

'Stop making me want to strangle you!'

'Stop making me want to refuse him!'

Tom wanted to shout and shake the young Potter until the boy understood.

Instead, he slammed the door on his way out.

(o o)

Dumbledore, a man witches and wizards everywhere admired, had never felt so unworthy.

Of course, that didn't stop him from spinning in his office chair.

But still, as his simple jinx twisted the seat he was in round and round, Albus Dumbledore knew he had no right in using young Tom to wheedle out Gellert's boy. Truly, Albus was quite the horrible man, proven by his blatant disrespect of his student's privacy, and - if he were being thoroughly criticizing - their minds as well.

When the swirling magic stopped, Albus sighed, cradling the tan face in his palms and jabbing his elbows into his knees. Forgetting the long, auburn beard, he looked very youthful, attractive even. Albus couldn't help but be proud of his looks. Perhaps Gellert would be too.

And that lifted his spirits high, just as he lifted his head, reminding him of his purpose. Albus shouldn't be ashamed of his acts, not if it was all for the greater good. Not if they were for his Gellert.

(o-o)

Tom discovered that ignoring Harry Potter was something not easily achieved. (Yes, he just saw a tussled mess of black hair duck behind that crammed bookshelf.)

He would travel down corridors not very frequented, Tom thought as he scribbled nonsense down on his essay -that actually seemed proper to anyone less of his caliber-, sure that he would avoid the boy that way. Yet, the little Ravenclaw would also be using the same paths. (Very conspicuous.) Even then Tom would hold his head forwards, refusing to look the raven-haired boy in the eyes. That didn't stop him from noticing the slight smiles and soft features (Or the love-bite last week that was too recent to be caused by Tom).

Tom refused to be angry, as he gripped his feather companion rather harshly.

(Yet he cursed Abraxas Malfoy to the point of limping for something as simple as whistling that other night.)

And then at meal times, Tom would concentrate on anything other than Harry, but the little Ravenclaw's lilting voice as he chattered to his friends never failed to catch Tom's attention, bringing him that much closer to cursing the nearest living thing (Who usually happened to be Walburga Black as of recent. Honestly, obsessive little fourth-years were bad enough, but the _head girl?_ )

None of the daily events were worse than Tom's night-time activities though.

He, Tom Riddle, would dream about Harry Potter, an annoying (-ly attractive) fifth-year Ravenclaw. _Sexually._

His eye twitched, and the surrounding study groups turned to him, jaws slack, as he unconsciously incinerated his quill.

Those things don't happen to him! Tom Riddle receives visions of power and glory- not bare skin, and green eyes, and pretty pink lips around his-

These dreams often had him spelling his drapes shut and casting the room silent to his hormonal impulses before thinking more deeply upon the person of Harry Potter. The amount of times he had did this since that night a little over three weeks ago bothered him. A little too close to every single night for his comfort. Truthfully though, those were the only times he could think of the Ravenclaw without admonishing his thoughts.

The point of the matter was that no matter where, Tom always focused on Harry. Something needed to be done.

(o-o)

" _You always stare at me," the small boy said._

_Tom glared._

" _Don't give me that look! You do!" replied Harry Potter, indignant and flushed._

_Tom promptly ignored him, propping his feet on the table and continuing to read._

_Potter growled, and swiped away his book._

" _Look here, you pompous ass. Everyone's saying you fancy me, and it's ruining my reputation. Snip the attitude and stop_ staring at me _."_

_Tom instantly felt his anger brew, and that was never a good thing. Must have shown on his face, if the Potter boy's sudden eye-catching fear was anything to go by._

_Tom smacked the book from the boy's hand onto the floor and grabbed the blue and bronze tie dangling beside him, pulling it even closer so the boy had to slightly bend to face him._

" _Be careful where you tread, Potter. I know a secret,_ your _secret, and I might just broadcast it to the world. Or kill you. Either's just fine to me," Tom said slowly, enjoying the way those eyes quickly came to a realization._

_But then he hated how they suddenly became unreadable._

_Tom let go of the tie, and the Ravenclaw stumbled. Tom held his hand out to the boy, and the other boy's face lit with a bright smile. His movements were clumsy as he picked up the forgotten tome, and Tom adamantly watched the boy as he knew the heir was quite graceful._

_Potter lightly pressed the book into the impatient hand with a bright grin._

(o-o)

Somehow, Tom never remembered that Harry was the Ravenclaw seeker. Not until Dumbledore dropped a piece of paper onto his book in class.

' _Quidditch is always a delightful time for winning, don't you think?_

_Game on Saturday! Ravenclaw versus Slytherin!'_

Tom realized three things in that moment.

Mainly, the match was his golden opportunity. His job could be carried out inconspicuously, just another 'accident' on the quidditch field. (Somehow, he couldn't picture himself doing that to Potter, although he knew he would have no choice.)

But then, there was also another opportunity as well. Dumbledore was getting _desperate_. Tom could gain so much from that that he grinned in glee, scaring several Slytherins walking with him out the walk-way.

And then the last realization dawned on him slowly. If he succeeded, Tom would never have to go back to that damned orphanage.

And so, as surprisingly hard as it was, Tom detached himself from his slight feelings.

(o-o)

The atmosphere surrounding the pitch was something worth mentioning, as Ravenclaw and Slytherin matches (with Potter as the seeker) seemed to be rather tense lately.

Nothing like the Slytherin matches against Gryffindor, of course, but neither were they similar to the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw matches either. Sparks would fly from wands unconsciously and curses from mouths purposely in the most vehement of games, as the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor almost always escalated into full-out brawls. And with their cool thinking, the Ravenclaws often trashed the Hufflepuffs with class.

No, Ravenclaw and Slytherin matches were quite different.

The fact had taken three years or so to sink-in with the various Slytherin Quidditch captains, but when it did, the matches definitely became fiercer. (By 'it', he meant that Potter was a brilliant seeker who would catch the snitch within a minute during a slow game.) Took long enough in Tom's opinion, as Potter had been seeker since his first year, and common sense would predict his skills becoming even better with time.

Slytherins prided in being sly. Definitely not brilliant.

But even so, despite being hard-played, the matches were fair. Perhaps the reason was that both houses held very high-ranking family heirs, or that Ravenclaws and Slytherins could easily achieve revenge. Regardless, the matches were regal battles, quaffles stolen with honor.

Following in example, the cheers from the stands were loud and cheery, with a note of friendly rivalry underneath.

So, seeing the relatively calm air, Tom knew he would be causing quite the spectacle within the hour.

( _Merlin, why am I doing this?_ was all he could question at the back of his mind, even though he already knew the answer.)

Ironically, as he trudged through the slight mud sluggishly, this would be the first quidditch match Tom had ever witnessed from beginning to end. He recalled sitting in the stands during his first year, and then leaving ten minutes later, highly disappointed with the utter uselessness of the past-time. _Those_ moments were categorized in his memory as the points where he realized the wizarding world did not differ all too much from the muggle one.

_Disappointment_ , that's what-

"Tom?"

He cursed, then stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. Like _hell_ was he going to turn around for _him_ of all people. Not today, Tom vowed.

Apparently he didn't need to, as a nest of black hair appeared in the bottom of his peripheral vision. Grudgingly, he looked downward, where he just knew there would be the brightest of grins. _Aw!_ Tom could already hear it. _You came to watch me trash your house today? How sweet!_

Surprisingly, there wasn't. Only a red nose and sad eyes.

"Yes?" he still asked coldly. _What could_ you _want?_

At the tone of his voice, Potter's entire face flamed red and he stuttered, "Oh! Um, nothing, I- you just- I just wanted to know. If you were, you know, okay. And stuff." The Ravenclaw brought his hands in front of him, twiddling his gloved fingers.

Tom stared at him.

"Well, yeah," the boy laughed nervously, stepping back. "I'll just be going-" Potter finished, twirling around dispassionately.

Sometimes, Tom acted on impulse. The times weren't often, just enough not to be completely unheard of before.

So, when he grabbed the taunt shoulder in front of him, many might of called that an impulse. But Tom didn't think so.

"Something's on your mind." It was a statement.

The boy didn't struggle from his grip, simply curling into himself slightly.

Tom also becomes impatient sometimes. Even more than impulsive. That was something he could easily pinpoint.

" _Well_?"

Quickly, the body before him tensed and pulled away, turning his head slightly to say, "We'll talk later, 'kay?" Grinning as bright as the sun and face still pretty, although Tom could see the feelings on the boy's face were strained, Harry Potter ran to the massive pitch, several yards from Tom.

A feeling crept up his spine, chilling him even more than the biting cold. Tom clenched his fingers, recognizing the cause of his icy veins. Never had he felt it before, but he knew it could be nothing else.

Guilt.

O-O

It annoyed him how he unconsciously found himself inwardly cheering with the rest of the Quidditch (Harry Potter) fanatics.

"Potter pulls off a stunning Hittle Frieght! And the Slytherin beater Tristan Dolesum is rounding his head in wonder! Yes, my fellow Hogwartians, this is certainly a game to remember!" shouted Gale Weatherlock, his own head flapping as Potter jumps up off his broom as a bludger hurls his way, gracefully returning to his former position after it passes.

Tom can't help but zero in on the drop below the players.

_Potter ought to have been a Gryffindor._

Wouldn't have surprised him, Tom supposed.

Well, regardless, he guessed being a Ravenclaw was best for the boy, as quidditch rivalries would have been several times worse had the boy been of the red and gold house. Oddly, Tom could picture him in the colors too.

He tensed and stopped his thoughts, as was not uncommon for him in relation to Harry Potter.

Nonetheless, it wouldn't matter soon. _Harry Potter_ wouldn't matter soon.

"And Harry Potter spots the snitch! He's racing away, right on its' trail, and look here! He's diving right in the middle of the Slytherin chasers!"

Apparently Tom wouldn't have to wait long. He felt detached watching the Potter heir weave around the quidditch players, yet there also was a sense of dread. In no way would the boy not catch the golden ball, Tom knew. There was no chance of him surviving if Tom wanted to change his mind now. Not that Tom did, despite him clenching his jaw as Harry narrowly missed grasping the snitch by the Ravenclaw goals. Tom Riddle did not change his mind at the last minute.

Right?

Right.

And then, as Harry Potter stood on his broom twenty feet above the spectator stands, the boy reached out his arm, as if beckoning the snitch towards him. Mere seconds later, Harry's finger tips grazed the side of the ball.

It exploded, and the Potter heir fell from the sky.

Tom turned his head, and everyone around him screamed for the boy falling. He felt something in his chest tighten, but Tom still didn't try anything.

It was misery, and he was sure something inside him died. He wanted nothing more than to pull out his wand and levitate the boy, but that same ultimatum replayed in his mind. The question of Harry Potter, or Tom's happiness.

Besides, it was too late. Nothing could help the boy now.

And then Alphard Black swooped in on his broom, grabbing the green-eyed boy before his untimely end.

Tom realized then that he had never felt more happy at something.

O-O

He dreamed of green flowers and yellow stems, orange skies and blue suns. It was ridiculous how the air seemed heavy with feeling, but then there was a white snake in front of him with red eyes that felt nothing. The atrocity slithered towards him and Harry just wanted to step back, to stay away from the thing that could kill him or posses him. But the green eyed boy couldn't move- a bright burning phoenix would then proceed to burn him with its' flames.

So Harry was cornered, between a bipolar snake and obsessive bird, the situation far more lethal than he had first suspected. And then the snake leaped, mouth wide.

Harry's eyes fluttered opened to overwhelming darkness, his heart racing faster than it should. At first his mind was blank, and he started to panic as Harry didn't know where he was or why he was there. Didn't his Grandfather always say not to fall asleep without the proper spells? Surely Harry remembered them! Who in Merlin's name could have-

Then the boy blinked at the movement beside his bed, sitting up and trying to leave the stiff bed that he felt trapped on. He screamed and struggled against the arms pushing him towards a bigger chest, not pausing as Grandfather always told him that in such a situation Harry just had to surprise an attacker for only moment to get away.

"Potter, _shut up_!" came a harsh voice above him.

Harry stilled, calm slowly seeping into his bones. After all, he would know that deep sound from anywhere. "..Tom?"

"I've already created silencing charms around the curtains, otherwise I'd have been _caught_ by your _blasted_ screaming!" his Tom hissed, obviously irked by something.

Harry stared where he thought Tom was seated in curiosity. "Caught?" he asked dumbly.

"The Madam Healer would have my head, you know, as it's _midnight_ , and I'm in the hospital wing," Tom said impatiently.

" _Hospital wing_? Tom! What are you doing _there_? You aren't hurt, are you?" Harry made a show of running his hands over any inch of the older boy that he could reach. It was still dark though, so Harry didn't really see where he was touching.

Tom's hands gripped his shoulders, keeping Harry in place, before leaning down to his face. Now Harry was sure it was Tom, and he pulled his hands up to place them on the Slytherin's cheeks. He was certain they made an odd picture, but he didn't care. He had his Tom speaking to him for the first time in _weeks_ , and that meant way more than anything else.

He felt Tom breathing on his face. "You have been here, not me, idiot. Don't you remember Potter?"

Hospital wing? He was the one there? No, _here.._? Why though?

And then the game came back to him- the wind blowing around him, calming Harry. Right when he was going to grasp the snitch, something exploded in his hand.

Oh yeah, it _was_ the snitch.

And why would it have exploded? Or more like _who_ made it explode?

Harry threw himself towards the opposite end of the small bed, out of Tom's arms and into the headboard. He was sure he looked like a frightened animal, but that didn't matter either, not when his Tom wanted to kill him. Harry was scared, not for the first time, of his handsome Tom, torn between letting the inevitable happen. Because anyone could see- if Tom wanted something to happen, it _happened_.

He did have a little courage left though. Harry's features became blank. "Come back to _finish the job_ Tom?"

"What? Do you even know what you're saying?" Tom reached forward, hovering over his sitting form.

Harry tried not to let his presence distract him. He was making a dangerous point, after all. "We both know you did! I may not know _how_ or _when_ , but that snitch exploded because you made it do so!" Harry sounded like a banshee at the end, but _dammit_! He wanted to hate Tom Riddle right then, to try to strangle him like he tried to fry Harry! But _no_ \- Tom has to be gorgeous and smart and covered in dark magic.

Harry was so _completely_ screwed.

"Hmm," Harry could see Tom smirk, "Sounds like you have the culprit. Want to turn me in now?" The Slytherin caged Harry on the edge of the bed, making escape difficult. And with those menacing eyes and that swirling black magic, escaping would be a good idea at that moment.

"I," Harry paused to catch his breath, "..would never do that." He lowered his eyes to the ground. Harry felt himself turn into the boy that was cowardly under Tom Riddle's gaze, and quite involuntarily at that.

Tom slipped from the bed, tipped his head back, and laughed. Harry scowled at his mirth, crossing his arms over his chest. What the bloody _hell_?

"What could _possibly_ be so amusing at this _fucking_ moment?"

The older boy's chuckles faded into the night. Tom turned his shadowed features to Harry, a serious expression covering his face.

"You're mine."

"…"

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

Tom looked like a cat going to pounce at the point, Harry realized. "You had your chance to turn around and walk away, but you didn't," said the Slytherin Heir as he steadily eyed Harry. Vaguely, and breathlessly, he realized _he_ was the mouse. Harry felt disbelief cover his face. "You didn't die even though I myself planned for you to, and that's quite a feat. You're lovely, and I don't want to tear my ears out when you speak," Harry did preen at the compliment though. "I want you to always turn to me before you do something, because you-" Tom stepped back by the bed, "-are-", the boy bent his head near Harry's, "- _mine_."

Tom kissed Harry- not for the first time, but so much different than every other time. He molded his lips against Harry's and grasped the side of his neck to keep him still. Tom obviously willingly kissed Harry this time, wanting it completely, possessing Harry completely.

And, of course, Harry didn't complain.

_End Part 1_


	2. Enticing Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fandom: Harry Potter
> 
> Pairing: Tom(Riddle)/Harry
> 
> Summary: Tom would never forget those green eyes, and Harry wouldn't let him. No matter what Dumbledore offered.
> 
> Author: BitterSongofGrace
> 
> A/N: Well, I finished this chapter fast. I guess I should write fast to keep the plot bunnies going anyways. But I'm curious, would anyone be interested in doing some fanart for this story? If anyone is interested, let me know! I would love anything from you guys, comments and corrections too! I'm BitterSongofGrace on FF.net and Tumblr as well.
> 
> Disclaimer: Run! Run back to your rightful owners!
> 
> WARNINGS! - Wrong-doings of the Harry Potter fandom in my self-plotted story include: YAOI! (Both are dudes.) INSINUATED SEXUAL ESCAPADES! (The sex acts are implied, not graphic this time.) GRAPHIC VIOLENCE! (It happens.) CURSE WORDS! (Come on! Everything has these now-a-days.) ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! (Almost every part..)
> 
> Enjoy..!

_**Eyes-** _

_**Enticing Me** _

 

 

He was dreaming.

A shade of red hair, a blue dress; it had to be a dream.

Harry had not seen too many pictures of her, but something inside him just knew. A warmth slid from the tips of his toes to the back of his heels and shot up his spine, making the back of his neck tingle and a fuzziness seep into his conscious. He felt so happy and joyful, a delightful, _pure_ high, so different from anything else he had ever encountered. And then she turned to side glance at him with those eyes he had seen so many times in the mirror, a soft smile making him want to go closer just to see it. Everything about her shined. Her mere presence made Harry want to do anything to make her proud.

Lily.

_Mother._

But he firmly planted his feet into the ground. It must be a trick. She was dead. His grandfather would lie about many things, but not the story of Lily Grindelwald's tragic demise.

_Or just a dream,_ Harry thought. It's completely acceptable to dream of someone that you wish was with you.

A breeze made the beautiful green grass sway, along with dream Lily's dress. She stood from her seated position in the wide meadow, brushing her hair from her face. Her lips mouthed something in his direction, but Harry couldn't hear anything except the wind.

Lily's eyes widened, and she mouthed three words again. But the wind was strong enough by then to almost blow him away, and he was looking for something to try to steady himself.

Lily started running to him, frantic. She was screaming, but it was like static in his ears.

And then Harry woke up.

(o-o)

' _I admire a student dedicating time to new crafts. I've heard assistance comes to those that cast shadow upon the ruby stone above the portrait of Render's Keep._

_Fenestram cludit.'_

Tom clenched his fist holding the message, face devoid of emotion. Every second that he was beyond the boundaries of his own magic, that manipulative bastard stood three steps ahead. He could feel his twisted, gray aura around every corner, hidden in every crack.

So to Dumbledore, Tom seemed willing to continue this ludicrous quest for blood. Why wouldn't he? Tom never had any qualms with delivering pain or death before the professor approached him.

Tom sneered internally, walking briskly towards the Slytherin common room.

His day would come. And Tom swore daily that it would be his hands that drained the life from his body. No one would ever attempt to manipulate Tom again, regardless of any quality benefits offered.

Things were not given to him by others, _he takes them._

So as ashes slipped from between his fingers, _fenestram cludit_ indeed. The only thing Dumbledore and Tom could agree upon was that-

His window truly was closing.

(o-o)

"You're late. _Again._ "

Tom finished stepping through the wall before dispelling his _Copori Aereo_. He reminded himself to ask Potter how he continued to be able to detect his ethereal presence, but the form of said boy led his thoughts astray.

The lithe teen sat in his seemingly favorite position- legs crossed and seated on some sort of desk. His gaze traveled upwards. Emerald eyes, an unconscious pout. Honestly, Tom didn't have to look to see the emotion on his face, yet he wouldn't miss the chance. He could hear all of the Ravenclaw's bitterness melding through his tone of voice, despite his attempt at sounding casual.

Tom wanted to laugh, but his lips only twitched upwards slightly. This was business, not pleasure.

Or he kept telling himself that. It had been weeks since their meetings became habit, and he couldn't remember a time where a rendezvous between the two didn't end ( _or begin, or consist_..) with pleasure.

But Tom pushed through images of naked skin and divine moans. He needed Potter to understand the gravity of this situation.

"He left a message."

Potter's back straightened, and his eyes glimmered. That alluring pout disappeared in an instant, and his jaw visibly clenched.

"It's about time. I'm surprised it took him this long."

Tom sat in the red sofa chair that Potter always conjured for their meetings. " _Fenestram cludit_. He wants me to meet with him, for academic assistance of course."

The Ravenclaw scoffed. "Because I forgot you were taking Assassination 101."

"I'm going to meet with him."

Potter jumped from the desk. "What the fuck Tom! Seriously? Merlin, why don't you just put me out of my misery now?"

Tom scowled. "Potter-"

"Don't Potter me, you insensitive ass!" His face was flushed, become a deeper red with every word. "What can he give you that I don't? Do you know who I am?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Your petulance is unbearable."

" _My_ petulance? Your pettiness is what got us in this in the first place!"

The Slytherin stood from his seat. Tom knew where this was going. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The shorter teen crossed his arms, nose in the air. Tom despised when Potter made that face. As if he was superior to him.

_No one_ was superior to Tom Riddle.

"Why are you so stupid sometimes?"

He was practically seething.

"Seriously Tom, for someone so brilliant, you can be the biggest idiot I've ever met! If you could ever get over your stupid, _stupid_ pride, you'd have turned down the old coot long ago."

Almost reminiscent of the first time they had sex, Tom could barely contain himself from strangling the Potter heir. He considered trying ( _How dare he speak to him in that manner. Did Potter forget who_ he _was?_ ) but that absurdly beautiful face distracted him. And those eyes, always his eyes-

Harry Potter had fear in his eyes.

Tom thought the fear was beautiful, and he could feel the pleasure rush through him. Most would think it was his fear of dying, but Tom Riddle knew better than that. Potter needed him so much that the thought of losing Tom to Dumbledore came before fear of his own death.

' _How pathetic._ '

But at the same time, Tom had seen a similar type of obsession in others. Yet never had he looked at those individuals with such satisfaction.

For some reason, Potter's pure, _pathetic_ devotion made him even more beautiful.

"I just- _I just don't understand_. I don't expect you to love me or anything, but you said that I was yours," the Ravenclaw said, his previous tone dissipating. "Why would you allow Dumbledore to play with us? _With me_?" The boy's face hardened suddenly.

"Are you bored with me?"

At that, Tom did laugh.

Before Potter could die of hurt pride, Tom grabbed his waist and pulled Harry into his shaking chest. After a minute of the Ravenclaw trying to squirm away, he turned the boy's face up towards his own.

"I absolutely adore you."

Before Potter could even breathe, Tom pressed their lips together.

(o-o)

Deep in a forest outside of Hungary, a room full of wizards and witches mingled.

It was a joyful occasion, men flushed and laughing and women dancing with one another. Banners of two separate houses adorned the stone walls, completely different yet complimenting each other in color. A feast of food covered an ancient table that stretched the length of the room, holding an array of different liquors and a mixture of ethnic foods meant to satisfy both ends of the guest spectrum.

At the overlying step near the north end of the room, a couple sat upon stone chairs so big that they almost looked like thrones. Behind them was a union of the two banners, signifying their union. Both wore robes meant for royalty, obviously the people everyone celebrated, yet neither seemed interested in the festivities.

"I wish we could skip this. Tomorrow is of more importance, everyone should get sleep," said the thin woman, face contorted into a sneer.

"Now, now _darling_ ," the robust man mocked. "That man is here to document our legitimacy. The world at least deserves a show."

She scoffed. "Once we're done with this-"

"-We'll rule the nation."

And despite the palpable disdain both parties felt for one another, each could smile at their mutual desire. And to that, they toasted their jeweled goblets.

As soon as the metal clinked, all flames smothered, and a darkness sank over the crowd. Squeals and gasps came from around the room, cups and plates hitting the stone ground in surprise.

One singular burst of light then appeared near the doorway, and behind it a group of cloaked men stood. When the members of the party reached for their wands, they felt nothing.

A deep laugh echoed through the room, and a wizard stepped forward from the mysterious group.

"I apologize, but I believe your party has been- what do you say? Oh, yes," the man said cheerfully, taking long strides to the table. " _Crashed_."

Everything from the table suddenly shot towards the surrounding bodies as if they were bullets from a gun, and people screamed as men and women both fell to the ground. Half of them were already dead as utensils struck vital areas, blood slipping from them as fast as their souls leaving the lunette of their eyes.

The figure apparated with a loud 'pop,' appearing behind the now standing couple. Their heads snapped to look at him, and his chilling grin made the color drain from their faces. Both pleaded and screamed as he laid the palms of his hands against the back of their skulls, and he did nothing but laugh again.

The last thing the newlyweds saw were white teeth and pale green eyes before an incantation was whispered, and their heads exploded outwards, blood and brain matter and pieces of bone splattering all over their pretend thrones.

The man stepped forward as the bodies fell forwards, and he shouted.

" _For the greater good!_ "

(o-o)

After what felt like forever, Harry laid back to breathe.

"This needs to be the last time we meet for a while."

He frowned, flipping to his left to stare at Tom. And while he looked like a god, sitting against the back of Harry's favorite sofa, right leg pulled towards his naked chest and his arm slightly resting on his knee, that still didn't keep Harry from hating him a little. So he told him so.

Tom lifted one of his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Harry pouted. "You could at least keep screwing me if you're going to kill me."

Tom groaned, lying next to Harry. "You are _not_ going to die. Stop being a drama queen."

He smacked the Slytherin heir's chest. "Being worried that you're plotting my death is not synonymous with being a _drama queen_. Let me remind you, the scars of your last plot are still fresh."

It was true. As Tom ran his fingers along the scarred skin of his forearm and glanced at the oddly formed scar on his forehead, Harry flushed. He almost felt guilty for bringing attention to them, but he mentally shook the feeling away.

"Potter, I despise Dumbledore. So we hide in the barrier of my magic for now, waiting. I'll watch him and continue this charade, and when I've discovered why he is so invested in your death, I can get rid of him."

Harry sighed. "You can't just tell him that you've _seduced_ me?"

Tom tipped his head back and let out a deep laugh. "You're quite desperate..."

Pissed, the raven-haired teen stood with his slacks in hand. "Don't flatter yourself."

Tom quickly grabbed his wrist. His face seemed serious, blue-grey eyes halting his movements.

"Oh, but Harry, don't you _love me_?"

Harry flushed, jerking from his grip. The Slytherin smirked, and as Harry quickly dressed himself, he could feel Tom's gaze. Glancing over, Harry knew that look. He could practically feel Tom's magic slip closer, heated and possessive. If he wanted any sleep, he would need to hurry before Tom stopped him.

"So, you're saying we don't do this anymore. Until when?"

Tom ran his hand through his brown hair. "As long as it takes. He can't be suspicious."

"Well," Harry started, but paused. "..I guess this is it for a while. I suppose this means we act as if we aren't familiar with one another."

Tom 'hmm'd' in response.

Harry smirked. "I wouldn't take too long if I were you. I do have other suitors."

The teen yelped in surprise as he was pulled back to the ground.

Harry regretted that statement on into the school day.

(o-o)

Around lunch, Harry sat at the Ravenclaw table, eager for pumpkin juice and food. He had missed breakfast for – _ahem_ \- 'business' as he told Edgar, and it was safe to say that he was starved.

As he chewed, his eyes drifted towards the Slytherin side, and before long, he found Tom.

Harry spluttered, bread and juice hitting Edgar in the face.

"Ugh! That is _disgusting_ Harry!"

But he couldn't look at the Archibold to apologize, he was too busy fuming in his seat.

Across the Great Hall, Tom Riddle, a teen who has consistently rejected every advance made by anyone slightly interested in romance, was sitting next to a blonde _bint_ and twirling his finger in her hair. The girl was blushing and giggling at whatever the brunette had to say.

Harry's head pulsed with anger, and he almost saw red as Tom ( _his_ Tom) leant forward and placed his perfect mouth near her _fucking ugly_ ear, lips forming words no one else could hear.

"Harry, are you alright?"

The Ravenclaw came out of his daze ( _rage_ ), looking at the boy in front of him.

"Yeah, yeah," rushed Harry, "I'm fine. Sorry about the food! I realized I have to take a leak. Like a waterfall leak." And with that, he started gathering his books and quill, ready to leave the damn place behind and break a few conjured vases.

"Wait!" yelled Edgar as Harry turned around to stomp off. "Don't forget your paper!"

Harry snatched it from the reaching hand, muttering, "Thanks," and swiftly left the hall.

But as he came out on the other side, a headline caught his eye.

' **HUNGARY MINISTER AND WIFE MURDERED AT WEDDING: A MAN WHO EXPLODES HEADS WITH HANDS!** '

His eyes widened, frantically skimming the article.

'Majority of guests dead-'

'Wizards in cloaks-'

'Mark written in blood-'

" _For the greater good_!"

He trembled a bit, barely able to hold the page in front of his face. Harry couldn't quite tell if it was anxiety or fear, or maybe-

Maybe a little excitement. Almost as if he were thrilled. And _god_ , did Harry potter love the thrill. Maybe that was why he couldn't think of stopping this thing with Tom. The Slytherin heir's power, his utter brilliance, his ability to abuse or manipulate whoever he wanted.. Even if that person was Harry, someone that he assumed Tom cared for at least _slightly_ , even if he'd never admit it.

But alas, he was going on a bit of a tangent.

Harry needed to get to his room quickly if he wanted time before class to-

A hand on his shoulder startled Harry, and he looked up into small glasses and a curious look.

"Are you alright, Mr. Potter? You seem unusually tense today," said the bearded man, a smile so tight that his eyes were closed.

"Um," Harry started, but hesitated. At the moment, his anger faded in the face of literal danger, and he chose to remember what Tom said.

(" _Do NOT seem suspicious. Act as if you need his help in class, anything that seems as if you trust him_.")

Harry swallowed, hard. "I just knew the minister is all. He frequented my family's dinners."

Of course the man would corner him when he was in a rush.

The professor nodded, a false sense of concern leaking into his features. "It is truly sad that this has happened. Our nation mourns with Hungary."

Harry could see the nauseating magic wrap around his legs, trying to falsely 'comfort' him. This was how Dumbledore was a favorite among students of all houses. And unless students were able to see it like he and Tom could, the magic would stick to you like syrup.

He was nothing but a manipulative bastard.

"Yes, it's tragic," mumbled Harry, trying to seem sad rather than what he was truly feeling.

He supposed it worked. Dumbledore bent forward at the waist and practically purred. "If you need anyone to lend you a listening ear, Mr. Potter, I am always ready to be of assistance."

Harry gave a sad smile. "I'll keep that in mind sir. Thank you."

"Anytime my boy," said Dumbledore, patting his shoulder. "Now off with you, I assume you have class soon."

"Yes. Goodbye Professor."

The auburn-haired man strolled away, and Harry briskly walked towards the Ravenclaw tower.

As much as he hated Dumbledore, Harry had far more to worry about.

His grandfather had made his move, and this uncomfortable peace between nations would soon end. Gellert Grindelwald had left his mark. He was already sending teams out, as was apparent by the presence of his cousin at the Hungarian Minister of Magic's wedding.

Merlin, Harry knew the minister spoke against Rodd a few times, but to think he would _rupture his skull_ surprised him.

Or, rather, his grandfather allowing Rodd to do so was surprising.

The Potter heir made it to his room and grabbed his special parchment made for times like these, and he began to write.

And as much as Harry hated what he knew was to come, he couldn't help but think-

' _For the greater good.'_


	3. Eluding Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you all for the reviews and follows! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All corrections and comments appreciated. I apologize for occasional confusion, questions will inevitably be answered, but feel free to ask away anyways! If its something I can answer, I will! If not, I guess you'll see eventually ;)
> 
> A few people seemed displeased with Tom at the end of last chapter, I wonder if you guys feel the same about Harry in this one.
> 
> Until next time!

**_Eyes-_ **

**_Eluding Me_ **

 

" _Albus, the time is near."_

_A candle, a shadow, a wooden box._

_His joy was visible. "Yes, our time is near."_

_A malicious grin split the face across the flat surface. Albus winced as cream-colored wax seeped passed his knuckles, yet his gaze never wavered, pure reverence clouding sky blue eyes._

_The figure slowly stood, and a burning discomfort spread along his arm. The auburn teen startled, throbbing converting to agony, and his mouth parted in preparation for a scream._

" _No, my treasure._ Your _time is near."_

 

(o-o)

 

Tom slipped out of the hidden room, portrait of the battle at Render's Keep swinging closed behind him with a barely audible click.

To anyone else, the Slytherin prefect might look tired after a late night of rounds, face strained in the nocturnal shadows of the school's corridors. In all actuality, cobalt eyes flickered with glee, sleep the furthest thing from his mind.

_Time to seek out Potter._

The thought cut through his mind like a knife in butter, almost halting Tom. And while yes, the Potter boy lingered near the top of his priority list, it surprised him how _pleasing_ the thought was to him.

No sense in prolonging the inevitable, he supposed.

As he took an abrupt turn left, Tom contemplated simply interrogating the smaller Ravenclaw. Considering the past week and a half, the possibility of cutting the teen loose became more and more probable. Not that the visible and very noticeable jealousy wasn't sickeningly endearing and all, but Tom knew it was only a matter of time before Dumbledore noticed the furtive glances and flushed cheeks. His plan rested solely upon Potter's ability to _act normal_ , or rather his inability at this point.

Dumbledore had severely underestimated Tom from the very beginning, and that would be his own downfall. As long as Tom's thirst for vengeance remained under wraps, nothing could go wrong. His composure was second to none, his discreet use of legilimency searched for any sign of exposure, and his superior aptitude with occlumency allowed only what Tom deemed fit to pass from his mind into Dumbledore's own thoughts. Again, _nothing_ could go wrong.

Except for Potter's ribaldry.

So, the question wasn't ' _Should I stop fucking Harry Potter?'_ as much as it was _'How can I stop fucking Harry Potter?'_

Tom wasn't daft. He knew his own weakness when confronted with the lithe wizard's wiles. The hitch came with stopping their risqué affair when Tom could only restrain himself part of the time, and as history told, denying himself of anything (let alone his one desire) led to some rather unsavory complications.

Before Tom could reach the Ravenclaw tower, he noticed a lack of Potter's magical signature in the area.

The search didn't take long. He felt a dab of the boy's aura more near the east side of the castle and continued towards the dungeons.

And as he felt Alphard Black's significantly less powerful magical signature near Potter's vicinity, Tom's blood ran cold.

 

(o-o)

 

Despite his ambitious nature, Alphard Black considered himself a man of honor and integrity.

Almost seven years of his life spent at Hogwarts revealed the true nature of those he once considered family, and it saddened him to think that soon, his own wand would be turned towards his parents. But, as Albus told him, necessity and the greater good outweighed familial ties.

Not that he hadn't tried talking to his mother and father, but they just wouldn't listen.

" _Grindelwald will make the wizarding world great again. The dark arts will no longer be cast aside by the simpletons at the ministry. Can't you see my son? It's for the Greater Good!_ "

They just couldn't understand that the true greater good laid with Dumbledore, and his mind already began grieving the inevitable death of his beloved parents.

So he kissed down the taunt neck of the exquisite Ravenclaw below him, trying to forget his plans for the Yule holidays.

And as alluring green eyes beckoned him forward, Alphard thought how surprisingly easy it was to forget everything else in comparison to the divine being in front of him.

One second, Harry was gasping into his mouth in pleasure, and the next, he felt his body thrown across the room, crashing into chairs. A heavy dust fell in front of him as his lower back prickled with pain.

" _What the fuck_ Tom!"

Alphard perked at Harry's voice. _Tom Riddle?_

"Potter, I believe we need to have a _conversation_ ," said Riddle, voice as hard and cold as a frozen ice pick.

He could see Harry's eyes flare with anger, but his face seemed emotionless. "And I believe that I'm busy. You'll have to come back at another time."

Riddle's hard gaze switched between Alphard and Harry, so he took the time to stand.

"Riddle, you heard him. Now really isn't the best time mate."

Riddle's navy eyes darkened, and he hissed. " _Black_."

Before Alphard could pull out his wand, a pain surged between his eyes, and he screamed. It felt like an axe splitting his head, pain and memories rushing to the forefront of his mind.

_(Albus' gentle smile and twinkling eyes as he transfigured a turtle into a teapot.)_

_(His parent's hosting the Knights of Walpurgis over Christmas.)_

_(Albus comforting him and giving him potions to calm the after effects of the cruciatus curse.)_

_(Albus teaching him how to form a patronus in Sixth year. He felt the light magic captivating him.)_

_(Alphard sending his rabbit patronus to Albus with information on the summer's initiation.)_

_(Harry Potter gazing out the window at initiation, disinterested.)_

And as sudden as the assault came, it stopped, Alphard collapsing and gingerly holding his head in his hands.

"What did you do to him?" came Harry's bored voice from the other side of the room. He made no attempt to help Alphard.

As if Harry _didn't even care_ that Tom Riddle was cursing him.

Before he had time to feel adequately used, Riddle's wand jabbed into his temple.

" _Obliviate_."

 

(o-o)

 

' _Grandfather,_

_I write to you in honor of your first phase commencing. While I don't always enjoy Rodd's tactics, I appreciate his creativity. Express my congratulations to him as well. The entire effort has inspired many of my housemates to investigate the 'suspicious group.'_

_Discreetly, of course._

_My injuries are almost healed completely. I know you requested that I discontinue quidditch, but I refuse to lose face in front of those that also believe I should quit._

_I had considered not telling you the person behind the spectacle, as I wanted to deal with the perpetrator alone, but I have encountered a bit of an obstacle._

_It was my professor, Albus Dumbledore._

_For a well-known 'light' wizard, he seems to have stepped into the dark side. I'm currently trying to discover what would make him want to murder me, but I already figure it has something to do with you. Any advice would be appreciated, but please understand that this is someone that I want to handle on my own. Regardless of the reasoning, I will make him regret it._

_In other news, studying for the OWLs is coming along fine. I'm top of all of my classes, the curriculum is still a joke. I'm all for studying magical theory, but the lack of instruction in spellwork is frustrating. I'm excited to be able to study under Uncle Roderick over the holiday, perhaps that will help sate my appetite._

_I don't usually do this, but there's a sixth year Slytherin named Tom Riddle. He is a halfblood, but I've never felt magic as powerful as his, barring yours. He's the descendant of Slytherin himself, and I wanted to suggest him for recruitment._

_He would be a true asset._

 

 

_With my highest regards,_

 

_Harry Potter'_

 

The letter burst into flames, and a surge of magic swept the wide expanse of the room, shattering and dissolving every object within reach. Only one name could inspire such hatred and destruction in the phlegmatic Gellert Grindelwald.

_Dumbledore._


	4. Swaying Me

_**Eyes-** _

_**Swaying Me** _

* * *

" _Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful young witch with fiery red hair and gullible green eyes. Despite living a mere seventeen years, her brilliance in the magical arts surpassed wizards decades her senior, prompting envy from all around her, including those she held close to her heart. But this lovely witch was still naïve in many ways, even with constant admonishing from her father, the greatest dark wizard of the millennium. Her heart remained on her sleeve still, the foolishness of her youth preventing her from seeing the truth._

_Her name was Lily, and I killed her with my own wand."_

 

**(O-O)**

 

All in all, Harry felt a bit smug.

Not that he wasn't a bit leery in the face of Tom's anger, but there could only be one reason that the Slytherin's magic pulsed with rage. It felt akin to an obsidian flame, licking at the edges of everything in reach, searching for something to devour whole. The Ravenclaw felt a smidge of fear at the pit of his gut, but that same place had a swirl of heat making him want to squirm… In _pleasure_ , really. It was quite odd, but Tom Riddle always made him feel something odd.

Tom certainly seemed to be jealous, and _that_ satisfied Harry more than Tom's touch.

Merlin, he was twisted.

Tom's cobalt eyes lit with glee as Alphard Black's body fell with a resounding thud, and he, being the intuitive wizard that he was, realized his favorite Slytherin found something in the other guy's mind that deeply satisfied him. Which probably meant bad things for Harry, yet still, that heat swirled even more, and he knew his cheeks were likely flushed.

Did he mention his lack of self-preservation in the face of Tom?

"So," began the wry voice, "this is the scum that entertains you?"

He fiddled with the rim of his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "Well, obviously. And quite often at that."

Harry's tone betrayed his conceit, and maybe it was purposely, but the sickeningly sweet smile that parted his lips afterwards was probably a bad idea.

Confirmation came in the form of a stinging hex. Harry cringed a bit in pain, thankful it wasn't a curse.

Masochist could also be added to the list, if the increasingly hot bubble was anything to go by.

"You're utterly _unbearable._ And quite lucky that I came when I did, though I almost regret being here."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

Tom leaned against a nearby stone wall, arms crossed in an almost bored manner. But Harry knew differently. He felt that magic trying to _eat_ him.

"A few of _Black's_ ," the teen spat out the name as if it tasted of trash, "memories, combined with one of Dumbledore's, have proven my theory correct."

_I meant something different…_

And as if he didn't have a filter around the other boy, he smiled coyly and said, "What I really meant to say was what do you mean you almost regret being here? _Obviously,_ you meant to be here if you came so far out of the boundaries of your rounds to find me…"

Tom glared. "Be serious. Or I won't explain it to you."

Harry pouted. He was serious, but oh well. He straightened his rumpled collar and sat in a dusty chair behind him. "By all means, _please_ go on."

"According to what I have seen through the eyes of this sorry excuse for a pureblood wizard, Dumbledore has been manipulating him from day one of his Hogwarts' career. Playing on his lack of affinity for the Dark Arts, which _should_ be in his genes as a bloody Black, the old coot has gained insight on the summer 'meetings' held at the Black's countryside manor. Which, conveniently, _you_ happen to attend _every year_."

At that, Harry checked his composure, ensuring his face was blank. He was seriously interested in which direction Tom was taking this, but that was the key word. Tom was _seriously_ making Harry's life more difficult with each additional word that came out of his perfect mouth.

"At this point, I already know that Dumbledore's issue has less to do with you and more to do with your grandfather. I originally suspected a power struggle between the two, but after the memory I saw earlier, and the somewhat surprising hatred towards you…"

Harry, pretty done with listening to his life unraveling and mentally scrambling for a quick fix, suddenly stood. "That much I could figure out on my own. I'm not a _simpleton,_ despite what you may think. In fact, I've already written my grandfather on the matter, and I'm simply waiting on his reply. Which brings us to this," Harry paused, using his hand to wave between the two of them. " _He_ will take care of this, and I'm thrilled to say, your assistance is no longer needed."

The Slytherin heir's entire demeanor visibly darkened, and his eyes made dark promises.

Harry didn't care what dark promises Tom's face made. He thought of his plans to integrate Tom into the circle, _to ensure Tom's future_ , and he firmly planted his feet in the ground, mind in the moment.

This dance with the snake _could not_ have any mistakes on his part.

" _Excuse me_? I don't think I heard you correctly."

Harry sniffed as if he was beneath him, playing the part that needed to be played. "Oh no, you heard correctly. It is done. Albus Dumbledore will be repaid, and you would be wise to stay out of it."

One step. Wand out. "Albus Dumbledore is _mine_ ," hiss Tom.

Harry glanced at his nails. "He harmed me, not you. That's not your revenge to take. Not when you are the weapon he used, Tom."

Another step. " _You_ are _mine_. All else is insignificant. Which reminds me," said Tom, sneer corrupting his chiseled features. " _Quaere fratrem tuum._ " A silver spell shot from his wand and hit the wizard still unconscious due to the excruciating pain of Tom's _Legillimency_ and _Obliviate_.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Incest is your punishment for him?"

Tom clenched his jaw. "He will forever seek the flesh of his family, as will his children, and their children, until his lineage is eventually condemned for being so inbred that they shan't even conceive. The Blacks ought to feel relief that they have three other children."

The Potter heir sighed. _How sweet._

He wanted to give in, to tell everyone that yes, he did belong to Tom Riddle, forever and _always_ , but instead, he said, "My name is Harry Potter, and I'm afraid that I am not yours, as you like to say. I can't belong to _you_ when I'm the sole heir of Gellert Grindelwald and the Potter line."

Tom's face hardened, his body no longer leaning towards him, and Harry wanted to cry. He might as well have came out and said that he can't be seen with halfblood.

But it was for the _greater good,_ as his grandfather liked to say.

"Really Tom, it's been fun! But in all sincerity, leave this be. I'd hate to have my favorite dalliance out of favor when I'm not quite finished with you yet." Harry threw out a saccharine smile for good measure.

Something cold and calculating danced behind those deep blue eyes. But then, instead of cursing him like Tom should have, the visibly tight grip on his wand became loose, and amusement flickered onto his face.

Harry flushed as Tom opened his mouth to chuckle, and he became a tomato as the Slytherin began full-out laughing, shoulders shaking with the force of his surprising humor.

That is when Harry knew Tom had saw right through his act, and he did not find it the slightest bit funny.

"Truly Potter, you may be a simpleton if you expect me to believe that your infatuation is anything other than absolute obsession with me. You cannot _fake_ the bond between our magical cores, and you certainly cannot expect me to discontinue my search for the truth when you are so blatantly hiding it from me."

With that, Tom seemed to appear out of nothing in front of him, and Harry felt his chin grasped between long fingers.

"But sure, let us play your game. Sleep with whoever, claim to be something other than what you so definitely are, and I'll do the same. But you will come back, you'll _always_ come back to me."

And with a kiss so quick that he questioned its' existence, Tom turned on his heel and left Harry alone.

Or, as alone as you can be with a heavily breathing teen unconscious in the same room.

" _Fuck._ "

 

**(O-O)**

 

"But uncle-"

A _Cruciatus_ leapt from his wand, silent but _oh so_ loud in the form of his screaming nephew on the hard cellar floor. He relished in the dark waves emanating from the curse and its' recipient, remembering just how delightfully foul the magic reeked when being casted upon someone equally as dark.

And so he stopped shortly thereafter, not quite fond of wrecking valuable men.

"Mind your tongue. If you are as crafty this time around, perhaps you'll finish in time to see him after all."

The trembling form at his feet barely nodded his head, pale green eyes seeking forgiveness.

Ah, he was not a merciful man, but _family_ …

_Family_ was a part of a whole that was known as the _Greater Good_.

So he bent his knees as he mussed the blonde strands before him, chuckling lightly.

"You'll do fine Rodd."

 

**(O-O)**

 

' _Harry,_

_I apologize for my previous demands. Understand that I enjoy your passion for quidditch, as long as you are safe. Make wise choices, my son._

_This Riddle character… I have heard of him. My curiosity as to why you push for him to be well received must be sated. Inform the Malfoy heir of Riddle's stay at their manor for Yule, and we shall see about the halfblood._

_Enjoy the season of merry, and I will look forward to time with you over the holidays._

_-G._

 

**(O-O)**

 

Harry, after a horrid encounter with Alphard Black, finally found himself back in the library.

It had been a week since Tom left him in that abandoned classroom, and the day finally came that Black questioned him. That _bastard_ conveniently forgot to wipe Alphard's memories from before the event, so the Black's full body pain traced right back to him.

He explained it away with one sentence.

" _You forced yourself onto me."_

He almost laughed at the paling of his pointed face, and then he _definitely_ laughed as the teen tripped while rushing away. There was something beautiful about the infamy of being a Dark Lord's heir, even without the cursing or commanding that he could do.

Harry shook the thoughts out of his head. He would solve this today, and nothing would distract him.

_Nothing._

So that's how Harry Potter found himself waking at half past midnight, surrounded by a wall of book spines and his head resting on the insides of _'Magical Cores of the Ancients'._

How did Madame Gildorn, _that unfortunate beast,_ not-

"Rise and shine Potter."

Harry shot out of his seat, heart running rampant as he found the owner of said heart in the darkness of a nearby bookshelf.

Seriously, there was a line between being _romantic_ and being a _stalker._

Hell, maybe they were the same thing?

" _What are you doing here_?" Harry whispered, running his hand through scruffy black hair.

His Tom stepped close and bent so that his mouth was on Harry's ear. "To laugh at your complete misdirection."

" _Shhhsh!"_ Harry whispered, looking frantically from side to side. He would blush, but the _beast..._ She could be anywhere! " _You never know where that old bat is…"_

Tom smirked. "Don't worry your pretty head, the _Madame_ has been removed from the area."

Harry felt his eyes go wide, but he probably shouldn't be surprised. Yet, at the same time, the bat-like woman was one of his biggest fears, and he felt like worshiping Tom even more than usual for giving him a reprieve.

"Thank _Merlin…"_

The Ravenclaw glanced down.

How did Tom Riddle always corner him?

Suddenly, Harry felt his fit of shyness fade away as Tom's statement sank in.

"Misdirection? But…"

The Slytherin Heir flicked his hand, and with a wandless spell, a thin book came to the wizard. The spine was thin and short with a brown cloth lining the cover, making the book seem less academic and more private.

Wordlessly, Tom's magic coaxed the book open to a specific page, and the other teen thrust it into his hands.

At the top of the left page, underlined and in refined penmanship, said,

'Soul Bonds and How They Begin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos welcome, and I hope everyone enjoys!


	5. Guiding Me

**_Eyes-_ **

**_Guiding Me_ **

* * *

 

_“Our bond-“_

_A viridescent glare. “Dumbledore, there is_ no bond _.”_

_His mouth fixed into a straight line. Of course, Gellert had not truly grasped the extent of their bond yet, but he would. “Look into yourself Gellert, the changes in your core do not lie.”_

_He reached out a hand, to convince him of his sincerity._

_A cacophony of desk objects falling and magic twisting with a heavy presence similar to knives flying through the air made his hand hang limp and his eyes widen in wonder._

_“Do not assume to touch me!”_

_Albus was taken aback. His poor Gellert, his denial…_

_That woman. She orchestrated this._

_Gellert stood straight-laced, chest heaving and green eyes burning. His blonde hair seemed to accentuate the sudden animal-like fervor in his appearance by standing every which way, just as uncontrolled as the magic whipping past Albus’ form._

_He tried to reason with him. “Why else would you take her into your bed? To lie with her and conceive a child? Your devotion to me influenced your interest in her, why else would her appearance so closely match my own features? Look inside yourself! Please Gellert, you will see it if you let this distasteful imitation of us to pass.”_

_He wanted to grasp that harlot by her auburn hair and pick out her blue eyes for causing this discord between him and his Gellert. But he was forgiving. He would allow her to live until her spawn arrived, for Gellert’s sake of course. Albus could understand the other man’s yearning for a child of his own blood._

_When Albus gave him children, he knew Gellert’s love for whatever child that would come from this fruitless affair would fade._

_He felt happiness swell inside him as Gellert seemed to calm. He was finally seeing sense._

_Those once burning eyes simmered down to a detached cold._

_“You were_ her _replacement.”_

 

(O-O)

 

  
“…And that, Tom, is how you project your aura over a specific object. I’m sure you can see the significance of this spell.”

Tom nodded his head in confirmation, pushing a false thought of awe to the forefront of his mind. _I can use this if an alibi is needed._

Inwardly, the Slytherin heir held the professor in utter contempt. Tom was unconsciously using this spell in third year.

In fact, he had used it to misdirect the red-headed wizard quite often.

Tom coughed in his hand at the waiting glance thrown in his direction.

“I’m afraid I’ll need to take my leave professor. I have a meeting with a classmate that I must attend.”

The fool smiled and his eyes twinkled. “Yes, my boy. I quite understand. Go on, and I hope you’ve learned something of use this evening.”

Tom smiled, charm personified. “As always Professor Dumbledore.”

Ten minutes later, as he finally escaped the extended reach of the loon’s magic, Tom exhaled deeply. He straightened his tie and composed his features, only letting his disgust settle for a second before it fled.

On his path to the dungeons, Tom reflected.

For one, his knowledge into Harry Potter’s lineage was something unexpected. Tom was not entirely comfortable contemplating the complexity of their _bond_ , or anything related to Potter really, so he often found himself reluctant to muse on the alluring Ravenclaw as of late.

Secondly, he knew that Albus Dumbledore was someone often overestimated, but the man was a _simpleton_.

Yet, at the same time, Tom had to caution himself on the subject of Dumbledore. In what way was the delusional wizard simple to him?

Was it a matter of magical ability? Perhaps not. While Tom easily slipped beneath Dumbledore’s nose and into his mind, the Slytherin realized that his effortless legilimency may or may not be due to the professor’s own unfortunate miscalculation of Tom’s magical ability rather than an indication of his own capacity.

So that left his obsession with Grindelwald. An obsession quite similar to –

But no, not similar. Not _truly_.

Potter’s obsession was not manipulated, unlike Dumbledore’s own mania in regards to Grindelwald. Of the memories Tom had seen, Grindelwald slowly but surely exploited the professor’s infatuation, wielding it for his own gain and steering it towards utter devotion so that he would never lose his hold on the human puppet’s actions.

Actually, Grindelwald’s methods weren’t unlike the Slytherin heir’s own tactics.

Though, in retrospect, Tom played on weaknesses and feelings that undoubtedly existed rather than amplify to new heights. And with Potter…

Well.

His thoughts wondered back to the conversation he had with Potter the previous fortnight.

_“You can’t be serious.”_

_He didn’t say anything._

_“Soul bonds, for one, are extraordinarily rare. And it’s not something that happens overnight. The notion is almost ridiculous.”_

_Tom lifted his brow. “Are you in denial, Potter?”_

_The shorter teen flushed. “I- No! I’m not. I just- I just need time to look into this. That’s all.”_

Tom could understand Potter’s hesitance; soul bonds were not only rare—they were also almost impossible to discern as _real_. Those without soul mates chose to ignore validity of the bonds more often than not, leaving only personal journals left behind by trivial witches and wizards who had experienced soul bonds as reference. Before Potter, he considered any speculation on the subject worthless.

His conclusion?

Tom Riddle was a rational wizard – which is why Tom went to sleep as an escape from the absurd ideation rather than concluding.

The wizard barely spared a glance towards the occupants of the Slytherin common room, instead intending on retiring early.

A quick shuffle of feet and distinct cough made for a pause in his walk approaching the dorm.

“Riddle,” started Malfoy, whose entire demeanor seemed hesitant – for good reason.

The Slytherin heir threw an icy glare over his shoulder. “What is it?” he demanded, impatience slipping into his customarily impassive demeanor. Abraxas Malfoy, the composed and regal pureblood heir, noticeably paled at his tone.

The sight improved his mood.

“W-well,” the blonde stuttered, “I have a request. F-for you.”

Tom raised his brow. “A request,” he deadpanned.

Malfoy gulped. “We, the Malfoy house, formally extend a Yuletide invite to you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, for a fortnight stay, so mote it be.”  
As reluctant as the invite seemed, a soft glow formed between the two Slytherins – a spellbinding invitation, used in the most formal of occasions, in which nothing short of death can rescind the offer.

How _peculiar_.

As his temper began to form its own magical glow in the form of a harrowing hex, Tom abruptly remembered.

_(Harry Potter gazing out the window at initiation, disinterested.)_

And with that thought, Tom couldn’t refuse.

 

(O-O)

 

As sudden as the snitch that exploded in his face, he realized _everything_.

_(“Oh, but Tom! Don’t you love me?”_

_A glance, a peek at what could be._

_Inevitable._

_“You always stare at me.”_

_A reason, an intention behind what you only see._

_Rebuttal._

_“I… would never do that.”_

_A sincerity, a veil of devotion for what would be ‘we.’_

_Trepidation._

_“You are mine.”_

_A trance, a demand or a plea?_

_Captivate._

_‘And, of course, Harry didn’t complain.’_

_A gratifying and rapturous core, beneath each other’s everything._

_Neither had the sense to flee.)_

And Harry knew, then, at every moment in their rapport, it had built to this.

This bond, this affinity for one another.

Just their entire _everything_ – a shift in his perspective, where the world no longer belonged to only him, and he realized that he shared it. He shared the entire _everything_ with Tom.

His Tom could never be anything but his, and that was the most natural thought.

It had been for a long time now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos welcome! I apologize for the long wait and a short chapter, but my baby Jack takes precedent over my beloved Tomarry. I also apologize if anyone is confused, I hope to clear up everything a little more with each chapter, so please bare with me. Again, I love questions, so if I can answer anything you want to know, just let me know! Thanks.


	6. Winding Me

_**Eyes-** _

_**Winding Me** _

* * *

" _Father, please!"_

_Gellert's arm and wand remained steady._

_Lily's sobs continued with her pleas, thin shoulders shaking._

" _Lily," the man at his feet croaked, blood filling his chest cavity._

_Gellert knew this because that was the curse that held him in death's embrace. He thought it suiting of a man full of betrayal._

_Again, the man said, "Lily." He coughed and wheezed, blood flowing from the corner of his mouth. "Li-Lily, i-it's_ okay _."_

_More coughing, more blood._

" _Father! STOP!"_

_His daughter's sobbing intensified as James Potter's chest slowed, and she desperately tried to break the bonds that held her. To no avail._

_That night, the traitor James Potter died, and his Lily, his beautiful daughter Lily, eventually said the words that would change his life, although he didn't quite realize at the time._

" _I hate you. With everything I am, I_ despise _you," she whispered, hoarse._

_Complete silence._

_Then-_

" _I'm pregnant."_

 

**O-O**

 

As the soon as the day turned from dusk to night, Tom Riddle traversed the path leading from Kolloverga into the surrounding woods.

He encountered a few runespoors along his trek, each hissing warnings of the hominid creatures of the Albanian night, exactly what Tom needed from them.

While not exactly well designed and depending considerably upon chance, his plan would do well enough in the end.

So, as the heir of Slytherin traipsed across the line of no return, he paused.

A whisper in the air, a rustle in the leaves.

That was the only warning he received before a pair of fangs glared in the moonlight.

 

**O-O**

 

As it was every year, the Yule gala held at Malfoy Manor was lavishly decorated-

-with _peacocks._

Peacock ice sculptures, feather adornments, glazed peacock and yams… Even an enclosure beyond the efflorescent garden contained the rare albino birds.

Harry laughed into his inner elbow. Four circular tables over stood the Malfoy heir, face flushed even as he squared his shoulders and lifted his pointed nose. At least Abraxas had the sensibility to be embarrassed of the décor. As for the rest of the Malfoy family, "You would think peacocks were their spirit animal."

To his right, Rodd snorted. "Perhaps Septimus feels the ostentatious creature accurately depicts his sexual prowess."

In his defense, Harry's cough and spluttering wouldn't have happened if Septimus Malfoy hadn't chosen that very moment to slip his hand below the small of Galo Abbott's back and cup the younger wizard's ass.

His cousin must have also seen the blatant sexual harassment. The blonde cackled as Galo stood so quickly his chair fell to the cobbled stone below and mumbled his excuses, almost running from the table placed in front of their own. The Malfoy patriarch continued speaking as if he didn't just grope a guest or see said guest flee in horror.

A pointed cough from Harry's left halted their laughter.

"Children," his grandfather began. "Your insufferable snickering is interrupting my meal."

The loud slap of Blanche Malfoy's hand across Septimus' chiseled cheek steered their attention back towards the center table. And as the Malfoy matriarch stomped away, suspiciously in the direction of the open bar, the first chortle came from neither Harry nor Rodd.

The sight of his grandfather prompted Harry's own laughter and even a snort from his uncle Roderick across the centerpiece.

"Although," Grindelwald said as his amusement subsided, "I suppose the Malfoy antics are worth missing a bite."

His cousin nodded in agreement while his uncle pushed his plate away. "They are fortunate to have not ruined the Malfoy name," the graying man said, disgust lining his words.

"Yet," Harry murmured. He held his uncle's opinion; Septimus Malfoy gave him just enough untoward looks to make him never want to be alone with the man. After all, his grandfather was fond of the political power that the Malfoy name brought to the cause. He would be most disappointed to hear that Harry made the man aspirate by peacock feathers.

The Ravenclaw figured death by spirit animal both ironic and sublime.

Grindelwald sent him a knowing glance. "Their heir is far more sensible."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose."

Rodd took that moment to elbow him. "You give the bloke too hard of a time. Just two months ago, he made it further than any other postulant. He'll be a fine Knight."

He glared and rubbed his ribcage. "Try going to the same school for five years. He's an uppity asshole with little experience, just like most of these halfwit heirs of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight.'"

Harry's anger bubbled at the thought of Abraxas and Alphard and all of the other 'postulants,' simply because-

"You could combine each and every pureblood heir of Britain's most noble and pure families, and they _still_ would fall short of Tom Riddle."

As he spoke the name of possibly his favorite person, most of his family froze. Rodd held a fork full of mash absolutely still, inches from his gaping mouth, for what seemed forever, and his uncle had his brows lifted in what could be shock or curiosity. But his grandfather, pureblood supremacist, had the most surprising reaction of all.

He simply continued eating, nonplussed. "We shall see."

Harry wrinkled his nose and brow unconsciously, as he was apt to do when confused. "You actually considered my recommendation?"

"My child," his grandfather said airily, with a hint of a dark grin, "I will always consider your words. Especially in the case of resolving your infatuation with this mudblood."

The Ravenclaw's face immediately went blank. His hidden hand clenched hard enough for his nails to pierce skin, and inwardly, he had many a number of negative emotions toiling against his resolve. Harry fought the urge to show his true feelings on the matter for what felt like eternity, but despite his raising, his need to defend Tom won out.

" _Tom Riddle_ is no mere mudblood," began Harry, rare petulance clear as day. "He is the heir of Slytherin. And he will surpass all other postulants, if he deems it worth his time."

Instantly, he realized his mistake. Not in the words he dared utter with such blatant disrespect, but in his recommending Tom for the Knights of Walpurgis.

His Tom would never take a knee to Gellert Grindelwald. Not for anything, not for Harry.

It wasn't in his nature. His Tom was meant for _greatness_ , greatness of his own making.

So, in his selfish need to keep Tom close, Harry might have ensured his death.

' _Dammit!'_

Harry shakily stood, noticing his grandfather's darkening face. "I-I have other matters to attend. Please, excuse me."

Without waiting for a response, Harry walked away from the table.

 

**O-O**

 

Harry pushed through many politicians on his way to the Malfoy Manor entrance, including one Lithuanian minister of magic. Honestly, he couldn't care less who was who, but his manors pleaded with him to apologize.

He did no such thing.

Instead, Harry continued into a dining room, and then into a hallway. He continued turns throughout the manor until finally, no one else was near, not even one of the numerous house elves that the Malfoy's seemed to collect as frequently as Peacocks.

The raven-haired teen deemed the random hall well enough and slid onto the nearest chair.

Harry closed his eyes as he rubbed his eyelids with the heels of his hands. While he may love Tom Riddle, the entire situation had spiraled out of control.

Things tended to do that, especially Harry himself, when Tom was involved, but his relationship with his grandfather was precious to him.

And honestly, if given an ultimatum, Harry wouldn't know who to choose.

He groaned and threw his head back, neck bending slightly over the top of the chair. He expected an expensive chandelier when he finally opened his eyes towards the ceiling.

Instead, Tom Riddle stood behind him, cobalt eyes amused and staring down at him.

Harry jerked upright before spinning in the plush chair, knees against the back of the seat as he circled his arms around Tom's neck. He seized his chance, as Tom's forehead tensed in surprise, and pulled the taller teen into a kiss.

Considering the month's wait (reasons for which Harry had no memory of at the moment), the kiss was deliciously ardent in its' intensity, making his toes curl and his body hum pleasantly, before Tom took advantage, deepening the kiss and pulling his embarrassingly pliable body over the back of the loveseat. He curved one arm around Harry's waist and used his other hand to grasp the curve of his ass.

He moaned, quite loudly. Somehow, Harry never failed to become a wanton whore when it came to Tom Riddle.

Unfortunately, their affair was brief.

His Tom pulled away from the kiss, but Harry noticed that he made no movement to remove either arm or hand.

The enamored part of him continued to be satisfied by that.

The other part of him, _normal_ Harry, finally noticed the other teen's injuries.

"What did you _do_?" he asked, tenderly touching the bruise and scrapes along his face and jaw.

And neck.

And _hands_.

"Seriously Tom, look at you! What, were you rude to a Griffon?" He paused in his once over to drag his lover (Boyfriend? Consort? _Soulmate_? Whatever!) to the seat. Pushing him down by his shoulders earned him a barely noticeable flinch, and Harry plopped beside him, ready to interrogate.

In response to his mothering, he received a glare. Harry pointedly ignored it and decided to smooth out Tom's normally perfectly combed hair.

"I had an errand to run," Tom eventually said.

Harry glanced at the bleeding hand once again. He quickly conjured some bandages and took his hands into his lap.

"Oh yes, an errand. What a lovely errand it must have been," the green-eyed teen said as he wordlessly used a disinfectant spell.

Tom gave him an unamused glance. "Your sarcasm is duly noted. Before you continue asking, my errand is none of your concern."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever." He continued wrapping the older teen's hands in silence.

After a couple of minutes, the Ravenclaw finished and said, "Your bruises are healing with magic, but your open wounds are not. The only thing I know that prevents magic from healing is contact with vampire blood. So, I assume your 'errand' had to do with confronting one of the undead, but again, _whatever_. Let's continue to act like I don't know anything because it's none of my concern."

Tom didn't immediately reply, instead glancing down at his bandaged hands.

After a few moments, he said, "A coven."

Harry gawked. " _A coven?_ What the hell is _wrong_ with you!"

The Slytherin heir slid him a bored look. "Leave it be Potter."

He huffed. " _Fine_. What are you doing here anyways? I assumed you stayed at Hogwarts when you were missing today."

Tom crossed his legs and leaned back against the chair. "My errand had _complications_. I suppose I'm a bit late."

Harry, unable to help himself, pressed his cheek to Tom's chest. "You know what this gala is for, yes?"

He knew without looking that Tom rolled his eyes.

" _Yes_ , I know. This is the precursor to getting into the Black's yuletide 'party.' But don't worry that pretty head of yours, I believe my invitation has been paved for me already."

Harry snorted. "Is that so?"

Tom wrapped his arm around Harry's form, making the Ravenclaw sigh in content.

"Well, you tell me. Why does Gellert Grindelwald want a half-blood attending his personal gathering?"

Harry paused in his personal joy, reality hitting him similar to a ton of bricks.

"Um, next question?"

He squeaked as Tom pulled him into his lap, making Harry look directly into his eyes.

" _I_ think your pitiful love-struck act has gotten me into quite the predicament _dear_."

Harry grimaced. "Only if you make it a predicament?"

Tom lifted his eyebrow.

"Just join the Knights of Walpurgis, and everything will be fine! No predicament at all."

His whatever-his-title-is simply kissed his forehead, as if he does it every day, and said, "I absolutely intend on it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed! Maybe some questions answered, probably just so that more could take their place. Also, did anyone enjoy the little bit of fluff? More of it, less of it? Let me know! Comments and kudos always welcomed. Thanks!


	7. Inspiring Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Self-harm of non-important character. I apologize if anyone is sensitive with this issue.

**_Eyes-_ **

**_Inspiring Me_ **

 

‘ _Do it_ ,’ whispered the voice again.

Laura hesitated, knife angled in her delicate hands.

‘ _It is for the best, my sweet girl. Do it, and your dreams shall come true_ ,’ promised the lilting voice.

But still, she tried to rationalize to herself. How could death ensure her dreams?

Should it not be the opposite? How can one dream in death?

‘ _Please, love. Do it. Do it for me_ ,’ the voice whispered, just as gentle as the first request.

The voice was so pleasant, though. The sweet nothings caressed her mind, removing all of her doubts and insecurities. No one had ever made her feel this way. Surely…

Surely it wouldn’t lie to Laura.

Yes, _yes_ , it had to be the truth.

And so, with a smile on her lips, Laura did as she was asked, and plunged the knife deep into her heart.

 

**O-O**

Deep in a dark cavern, thousands and thousands of miles away, a cloaked figure sighed.

A crimson string held in two hands glowed brighter and brighter for all of two seconds. Suddenly, the string’s light dimmed until a gray string was left in its’ place between fingers.

She had thought that this one was it.

She was so _sure_ this time.

_Oh well, on to the next._

 

**O-O**

 

Rodd Grindelwald considered himself an honest wizard.

 _Well_ , perhaps not honest as in _sincere_.

He was simply _meant to be_. A wizard such as him came about as often as an asexual Abraxas Malfoy, which is to say hardly ever.

The thought of Abraxas reminded him of the Malfoy heir’s late appearance. Unlikely to miss this meeting due to an appropriate desire to remain alive, Rodd decided to overlook the teen’s tardiness.

 _Anyways_.  

When he was just a babe, still coddled to his mother’s chest, Rodd could already manipulate his magic well enough to break glassware with his incessant cries. An even as his father, Roderick Grindelwald, enchanted the entirety of their manor’s fragile pieces with anti-wreckage wards, the blonde babe still managed to crack mirrors and fracture wood.

His mother insisted upon accidental magic, but his father claimed a disregard of his authority.

Rodd’s future actions indicated that his father’s allegations were indeed justified.

Regardless of intention, the simple truth held true on into adolescence; his affinity for wandless magic never waned. Maybe this reason alone caused the interest of the Dark Lord, although Rodd preferred to think that he and his uncle shared a similar sense of humor – _if_ you considered an inclination towards murder as humorous.

And while he recognized his natural ability to be rare and noteworthy, Rodd nevertheless felt overshadowed.

For even at the age of seven, Rodd understood the magnitude of Harry Potter’s birth.

Yet, as he glanced at his cousin’s bored face, almost childlike in his continuous state of petulance as of late, he couldn’t muster even a bit of jealousy.

Rodd wouldn’t deny his tendency to dote on his younger cousin. Admittedly, their relationship began on the rocks as his uncle showed undoubted preference towards the quiet infant, but that quickly changed as Harry became a toddler, following step for step behind Rodd.

Step for step evolved into spell for spell, until five-year old Harry, prodigy that he was born to be, mastered a spell twelve-year old Rodd failed to properly execute.

But Harry, adorable, innocent Harry, smiled so big, and Rodd understood what adoration truly meant.

_Adoration is an inclination towards affection rather than jealousy._

And the sentiment was shared between the two. Despite Harry’s detested dependence upon his wand, he admired Rodd’s ability to keep his wand at bay.

As Rodd sensed his cousin stiffen at his side, he broke from his musing. The viridian eyes, so similar to his own but at the same time _not_ , nervously cut to the closed door into the Black’s spacious drawing room, and pale hands lifted a goblet full of wine, downing the alcohol in one drink.

Rodd grinned, leaning lazily against the stone wall behind him and a bronze hand ruffling blonde locks.

Now _this_ , he would undoubtedly enjoy.

 

**O-O**

With about the grace of a stumbling giant, Abraxas tripped crossing out of the Black’s fireplace.

A step ahead, Riddle ignored him, sharply focused on the entrance to the boardroom, and the blonde felt relief.

That relief melted into his stomach, burning hot with shame yet bleeding into something cold and solid, forcing a lump to form in his throat. Fear and dread made him audibly swallow, causing the feelings to repeat all over again.

Merlin, would this be the _end_?

Tardiness, in any form, was unacceptable among Pureblood traditions, _especially_ in relation to those of superior standing.

In fact, many a wizard had fallen under the Dark Lord’s wand for far less disrespectful acts.

 _Doomed_. Tom Riddle had _doomed_ him.

Abraxas would find that word funny in any other situation.

“Tom Riddle. What a _pleasure_.”

The Malfoy heir inwardly cowered and outwardly paled as Lord Grindelwald’s voice held zero _pleasure._

To their right, the infamous wizard sat in a large wing-backed chair, crimson in color. What drew his eyes the most, however, was not the chair or even the man, but it was the _wand_ in said man’s hand _,_ perfectly in view and contrasting with the arm of the seat. While the man’s face held not an ounce of emotion, the entire scene was quite horrifying.

Even more daunting would be the way Riddle smirked, turning with an ease that only pure confidence could provide. The atmosphere swiftly changed, and tense didn’t seem quite appropriate enough a term for the situation.

Surely his fellow Slytherin was suicidal. Any other explanation surpassed the realm of sensibility.

“ _Malfoy_ , be gone.”

His preservation skills prompted his feet without much of his own notice. As he hurried out of the room with about the same lack of dignity as his own philandering father, Abraxas thanked Walpurgis and all of her might that he still had lungs to breathe.

 

**O-O**

The _audacity_. And from a _mudblood_ no less.

The teen before him did not meet his expectations.

 _He surpassed them_.

Gellert could feel the glyph the moment the fireplace flared, signaling someone’s arrival. Before that moment, he had been a tad smug, assured by the late hour that the boy had refused the invitation out of fear.

 _Oh no_ , that inferior _bastard_ dared to be late, _purposely_ , and all because the mudblood _knew_ Gellert couldn’t touch him.

His fingers twitched.

“You seem proud of yourself, _boy_ ,” he stated, muscles rigid underneath his robes. The urge for blood was almost too much to bare after such blatant disrespect.

Riddle lifted a brow.

At _him._ On the inside, he seethed.

“Perhaps. I’m quite _honored_. Do you treat all guests with an exclusive greeting?” Riddle sneered. “How _benevolent_ of the Dark Lord Grindelwald.”

Said Dark Lord’s face darkened. “Watch your tongue mudblood, before I _cut it out_.”

Riddle smirked again, posture reeking of confidence. “I suppose you know not to try. I admit, I had hoped you wouldn’t know what this-,” the Slytherin flashed his enchanted ring nonchalantly, “- _is_. But I assumed Potter must have gained his knowledge from you.”

 _Ah_ , there it was.

A poisoned glyph. If attacked, the blast would deal seemingly no damage, until it was too late. By the time the attacker realized anything had happened, the glyph would have poisioned the blood stream with vampire blood, effectively rotting the body from the inside out in a matter of seconds.

While quite a simple ring, Gellert could _feel_ the power of the rune placed on it. And only runes carved upon glyphs could emanate such an aura as the one that surrounded Riddle. Although, there was something _off_.

Something wasn’t right.

His eyes widened.

Riddle chuckled. “Vampire blood isn’t the easiest ingredient to obtain, but the effects are worth the effort. In the case of glyphs, I’m sure you know, there is the writ of the blood of a vampire, and then there is the _sacrifice_ of the blood of an entire coven. While most deem such a thing impossible by most wizarding standards of today, I do _not_.”

The teen glanced at the exit, and then back. “I created this ring for two reasons.”

Gellert remained silent.

Maybe, _maybe_ , the mudblood was worth sparing.

“To prove that I am far more capable than the fools that have taken oaths in your name.”

At that, Gellert scoffed. _Not quite_.

“ _And_ , I didn’t make it for myself.”

With that statement, the fool removed the ring and pocketed it.

His jaw went slack.

Gellert Grindelwald, in all of his years, had never seen an aura as expansive as the magic that belonged to Tom Riddle.

This _was it. I assumed the ring had been the source, but I…_

_I was wrong._

Riddle sent him a calculated look. “I do not fear you Grindelwald, just as I do not fear Albus Dumbledore. I will not lie and claim to be your better, but I do not _follow_ anyone.”

The teen straightened his back. “Teach me instead.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so yeah. Two chapter within a week of one another. I feel almost on a roll. Except it's a bit short, and I apologize.  
> Sorry about even more unexplained stuff. I apologize, we're getting to all of the plot slowly but surely.  
> If I didn't explain it well enough, vampire blood is poisonous to mortals. Their bite, however, turns a mortal into a vampire. If a mortal battles a vampire, becomes injured, and some vampire blood gets on their skin, it prevents the wounds from healing with magic. It takes the old-fashioned way, even a bit longer. With the rune, it directly deposits vampire blood into your blood stream, and it kills you dead.  
> But that's my crappy explanation. I hope you enjoyed first of MANY confrontations.  
> Any other questions are welcome.


End file.
